


Orchids

by starprise_entership



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Episode Tag: ‘Sacrifice of Angels’, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprise_entership/pseuds/starprise_entership
Summary: Ziyal’s last gift to Garak is a reminder of home.





	Orchids

_Oh, Ziyal._

Garak stands by the side of Ziyal’s bed, solemnly as if standing guard. Ziyal’s eyes are closed, and if Garak could just close his eyes too he could pretend Ziyal was peacefully sleeping.

But Ziyal is sleeping way too peacefully. She’s sleeping a sleep that will never end. The blanket, pulled up to her shoulders, hides the ugly wound in her chest where the disruptor beam hit, but Garak knows, deep down in his heart, it’s still there and it’s so real, realer than ever.

It’s a pity that her dress has been ruined - he’d made it for her personally. And it’s an even greater pity that this talented, friendly young woman was taken from this world.

He sees the cultural aspects of Cardassia in her. From her paintings to her sculptures and even to the way she stands and carries herself - Cardassia radiates from her. The glorious, vibrant Cardassia that once was before the military and the strong desire for conquest took over and took the light from the skies, the breath from the people and the life from the earth below. Ziyal represents a hopeful Cardassia, looking towards the future and that’s how he feels how Cardassia should be. Sometimes he’s ashamed of himself for putting Ziyal on that pedestal, but he knows that deep down, Ziyal was his one last true tie to Cardassia. And now she’s gone.

He’ll miss the warmth in her smile and the light in her eyes. The way she held on to hope. She was constantly cheerful, joyful even. And Garak knows, that given a past like hers, there has to be some sadness behind that youthful face. _Did she ever feel any sense of belonging to Cardassia in the first place?_ He thinks. Cardassia hasn’t been kind to her, and likewise Bajor wasn’t the most welcoming to her either. Garak moves forward and brushes the tips of his fingers past the indentation on her forehead, undoubtedly Cardassian, and moves downwards to the ridges on her nose. An undisputable indicator of her half-Bajoran heritage. And he thinks the same about himself, too. His family hasn’t ever adhered to the normal Cardassian standards. It hasn’t ever adhered and will never adhere, Garak supposes. He’s an outcast, and still will be, if things don’t change. Maybe he was drawn to her because of this solidarity.

And he wonders why she was drawn to him in the first place. It seemed to be the mostly unlikely thing ever, for a number of reasons. Firstly, he had never gotten along well with her father. (Did she ever know he was responsible for the death of her grandfather? Garak assumed she didn’t.) Secondly, he was decades older than she was. Nobody would’ve approved of a relationship like that. She loved him, but he didn’t love her back in the same way. He couldn’t see them as more than friends. He wanted her to live out her youth happily. The exact way he didn’t get to. Happy was not a word that could describe his youth, for his life had been taken for use for the state through the Obsidian Order. It felt like he had grown up too fast.

And he was hoping Ziyal didn’t need to. She had passions and interests to colour her life with. And her deepest passion, art, had eventually become her career. She would have gone far.

Deep in thought, Garak watches in silence as he feels the warm hand being laid on his shoulder.

Garak looks up from Ziyal’s body. “Oh. Doctor Bashir. Thank you for allowing me to stay.”

The young man nods his head, a solemn expression on his face. “You could stay longer, Garak.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Garak replies. He knows he eventually has to let go of Ziyal and move on, but why not start now? He gives one last, long look at Ziyal. Before leaving, he leans over and presses his lips to Ziyal’s brow, near her hairline.

Ziyal’s hair smells of flowers. Edosian orchids, in the spring. The very same orchids that grew in the garden of his home back on Cardassia, by the man who raised him.

Ziyal’s last gift to him, is a reminder of home.

 


End file.
